


Not If It's You

by lesbianettes



Series: Orestes and Pylades [4]
Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, Stand Alone, Suicide mention, implied depression, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-17 19:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Connor has a bad day





	Not If It's You

The kind of day they’re going to have is obvious the second Jimmy wakes up to the shower running, steam creeping out from under the door of the master bath. Whenever Connor takes a shower in the morning, he likes it cold so he wakes up faster. But the water is hot and clearly has been for a while, so Jimmy fumbles for his phone to call Goodwin and let her know Connor’s taking a sick day, and he’ll take a vacation day. She never likes it when this happens, but nobody does, and she always acquiesces with instructions to give Connor her best. 

In hopes Connor will come out of the shower on his own, Jimmy busies himself doing things to make the apartment a little more comfortable, tolerable. He puts the soft blankets on the bed, closes the curtains, queues up disney movies, gets ice cream and two spoons from the freezer, and digs out a well-loved stuffed animal on the top shelf of the closet from where it’s tucked behind several boxes of expensive shoes. He sets leaves the worn stuffed dog on top of the pillows and, with a deep breath, goes to the bathroom door.

Over the past few months, these days have become more frequent. So much so that Jimmy’s suggested Connor ask about upping his dosage, or consider going back to therapy, but the nicest response those words have earned was the silent treatment for a few hours. He knows already that it’s not going to be easy, as he grabs Connor’s bath towel off the hook and approaches the curtain pulled all the way around.

“Morning,” he says hopefully.

No answer.

Jimmy sighs and pulls the curtains back, revealing Connor sitting at the bottom of the tub with his knees to his chest and the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. His breathing, slow and measured, gives away the effort he’s putting into that much. Rivulets of water skim down his spine, pool in the crooks of his elbows. In any other situation, it would be beautiful. But not in this one. 

He shuts off the water and wraps the towel around Connor’s shoulders, starting to dry him at least a little until he manages to get him out of the water and back into bed. His joints will be stiff if he stays here all day, and besides, he needs to move around at least a little.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, taking Connor’s hands in his and easing him to his feet, wary of accidentally making him slip and fall. “Let’s get you dried off and back in bed.”

Connor doesn’t say a word, but at least he lets himself be led out of the bathroom and quickly dried off. Jimmy manages to get him into a pair of sweatpants too, before they’re in bed again and Connor’s stuffed dog is held tightly in his arms. It’s a comfort on bad days. They’ve talked, once or twice, about other partners who mocked or teased, but Jimmy would never dream of tainting the thought of something that brings even the slightest amount of peace to Connor’s mind.

“‘Princess and the Frog’ is on first.”

Although he doesn’t say anything, Connor’s eyes flit to the TV screen as Jimmy presses play. Off to the side, the ice cream is beginning to melt on the nightstand. It doesn’t much matter because Connor likes drinking it more than eating it anyways, and it’s probably the only way he’ll put anything in him today. 

But by the time the first song begins playing, Connor is falling back asleep, buried in layers of exhaustion from the lack of sunlight and a dose of prozac that just isn’t high enough for him right now. Jimmy keeps the movie playing nonetheless, runs his fingers through Connor’s hair with one hand while scrolling through instagram with his other. In theory, he could go to work and just leave Connor here to sleep through the day and the next night, but he can’t bring himself to do so. It feels too much like giving up, as far as he’s concerned.

His heart aches for Connor’s pain. He knows what it had been like for him with his mother and how she spent days at a time in bed until the day she gave up. He doesn’t want to think that Connor would ever do that, is even close to that point, but it’s a history he has to remember as these days grow more frequent. He’s just waiting for it to be two, then three, then a dozen days in a row. He’s waiting for Connor to snap, whether it’s actually going to happen or not. The waiting and not knowing how to help are the worst parts of all of this, he thinks. If it was a migraine, he’d get the medication from the cabinet. If it was the stomach flu, he’d bring over a trash can and pull out saltines. If it was just a bout of sadness and grief, he’d hold Connor in his arms until it passed.

This is more complex, though, and he always feels like he isn’t doing enough no matter what. Connor needs more in order to be okay. And Jimmy’s not a psychiatrist, not a counselor. He can’t just wave his hand and fix this all, no matter how much he wants to.

He winds up doing something he promised himself he wouldn’t: he texts Reese. She’s lovely, and energetic, and exactly the sort of doctor Connor needs. He texts her about how Connor’s having more and more bad days, how he doesn’t know what to do, how he’s worried about Connor hurting himself, how he needs to do something to fix it.

It hits him, then, that maybe this is exactly what he needed to do. Just make sure that this isn’t a battle Connor has to fight on his own. Being here, even if he can’t do anything else, is something. He remembers how many times on his own bad days in the past he just wanted someone to hold him and not make him talk about it.

Still, some twenty minutes later Reese answers, and she tells him the same thing. He should be there, and when Connor’s feeling a little better, he should advise him for the millionth time to talk to his doctor.

And, as he thinks about that, he realizes that he hasn’t seen Connor taking his medication since his father died. Whether he doesn’t have a prescription anymore or is failing to take them, he doesn’t know, but that could also be part of the problem.

“It’s okay to need help,” Jimmy tells Connor’s sleeping form, still stroking his hair. “There’s nothing wrong with needing or even wanting it.”

Of course, he doesn’t get an answer because Connor’s asleep, but he’ll be repeating it soon enough, as many times as necessary in order to help Connor get better.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @beelivia


End file.
